Welcome to Gaia! ::

Liamh whistled tunelessly, hands in his pockets as he swung his lanky legs up the trail. Perhaps tunelessly was the wrong word - it was, in fact, "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers as it read on the ipod connected to his ears, but how apparent that was could be anyone's guess. What he lacked in precision, he made up with enthusiasm.

Cheered on by his minor excursion to the lake, Liamh had decided to go a bit farther these next few days, and with the promise of sun, sand, and alcohol, he'd set his sights on the the beach bar.

As the palm trees thinned and gave way to scrubby beach foliage and the path became more sandy, he spotted the thatched refreshment shack up ahead and made a beeline. Coming up to the edge of it, he peered down the bar and halted suddenly as he spotted the man... thing.... at the counter.

He winced slightly, but determined not to avoid the islanders he was to be living with, he cleared his throat. "Uh, hello!" he called, pulling a plug from his ear and turning off the ipod.

Liamh scratched his head and took a stool a few spaces down from the other man - and his tentacles. "Heh. I won't argue with that... I don't normally start early, but I think i could use one after the walk...." he reached across the bar and started mixing himself a marguerita.

"Neighbors?" He glanced at the older man - he offered a smile, trying to keep from staring at the tentacles and bizarre protrusions sticking out from his sides. "I'm in 66, where've they got you?"

He rooted around absently, looking for a lime for his drink and wondering how fresh they kept the beach bar stocked.

Liamh shuddered, glancing Richard's way. "Uhh... I dunno, i haven't... you know." he gestured, finally finding a lime and moving on to 'something to slice it with'. He looked away for a moment uncomfortably and cleared his throat again. "Seventy, huh? I thought i saw the lights on in the..... wait.." he paused, wrinkling his nose thoughtfully. "Richard in Seventy? That sounds familiar...."

After a moment, he snapped his fingers and pointed triumphantly at the older man. "Ah! Right! You're the letter-guy, aren't you?"

Liamh shot Richard a curious, wary look. "Reeeaaally... how did - ah, wait," he reached over and grabbed his marguerita, carefully maintaining a little bit of distance from the older man, just in case the striking tentacles got loose again. "This might require a bit of brain sanitizer, one moment."

He tipped back the drink and set it back down with a hard swallow. ".....Okay. Now. What were you saying?" He forced a wry grin that managed to look only slightly unhinged.

Mutants, mutants, everwhere... but at least there's a drop to drink...

Liamh went to push his glasses back up his nose, and remembered that they'd fallen. Snapping his fingers, he looked under the bar-stool. Rooting around, Liamh found his glasses and picked them up, scowling as he noted that one of the lenses had cracked slightly from the fall. Perfect, just perfect. He folded them up and set them on the counter.

"Frankenbastage? Wow. Had yourself a tête-à-tête with the villain himself?" Liamh smirked dubiously. "Now that's something I'd pay to get my hands on. What'd he have to say for himself? Nazi science and progress propaganda, psychotic philosophical garbage, or something of the sort?" He leaned against the bar, taking another sip of the martini. Needed more lime.

"Driven... driven right off the edge, if you ask me." Liamh stabbed the bit of lime in the bottom of his glass with a toothpick. "Driven off the edge of a cliff would be better," he added, muttering to himself.

He took another sip of his drink. "Playing God in his own little sandbox, is he? That's a riot." he snorted. "Did you glean anything in particular from the conversation, or was it mostly egomaniacal psychobabble? Any telling weaknesses, paranoias, maybe... good lord, how i'd love to see his little empire crumble from within." He shook his head and toyed with the glasses on the counter.

Liamh nodded slowly. "I wish there were a way to talk to them. Other than the intercom, i mean - they're not going to put anybody with any sympathy on THAT line. I think."

With a sigh, he drained his glass and shoved it aside, chewing absently on the lime. "They're holding all the cards. We just... need a way to stack the deck. If we knew anybody on the inside..." he shrugged. "Moot point, i guess, since they're not going to come out here any time soon."

Listening as Richard spoke, he tilted his head. "If this place does turn over, i wonder what would happen to the residents here - the involuntary ones. Guess that depends on who takes the crown up in management, eh? Maybe they wanna keep things as they are, keep feeding and clothing us. Maybe they just turn us loose into the jungle and hope we kill each other. Maybe they do the job themselves, wipe the slate clean and get the hell outta dodge." He scrunched up one side of his face.

"Or maybe we get 'rescued' - the swat teams charge in. FBI, CIA, whoever." He waved a hand dismissively. "Do they kill us, lock us away somewhere? Maybe take us back home? Dang, that would be great on Letterman. I want a national interview when i get home." he poked a finger Richard's way with a wry grin.